The Orphaned Worlds (62 page)

YOU MUST GET UP AND CARRY ME ACROSS TO THE CONTROL PEDESTAL
I AM EXERTING MY OWN ENERGIES TO KEEP THE XEZRI AT BAY
THEY DARE NOT COME ANY NEARER
SO ROBERT HORST
TIME TO COMPLETE YOUR MISSION

But no time for any more living
, he thought, a certain despair tingeing his woozy thoughts.

Tucking the cylinder inside a chest pocket, he got to his feet, somehow. Then he faced the control pedestal and strode forward, got a few paces, yawned, blinked a slow blink which on opening showed a sideways view of the platform, from where his head lay upon it. So heavy, his head, but he managed to lift it, imagining that he was carrying it under one arm with the Zyradin under the other. He laughed, a weak, throaty sound.

No walking this time. On all fours he crawled for an eternity across the cold stone patterns, which drew his eyes to them, their fabulous complexity, grace of line and intertwining enigmas. At one point he thought he was talking with Rosa, with the older, more mature version, discussing her mother and the previous younger Rosa-sim, almost as if she were a younger sister. And with every shuffle and drag of the way, the waiting myriad xezri paced him, the eerie, restless swaying of a forest of deadly silver blades over which he towered like a dying giant …

SLEEP NOW ROBERT HORST
DIE NOW WITH HONOUR